


Weaned On Poison

by ElaenaOfGilead



Category: Sharp Objects (TV), Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn
Genre: Angst, Bad Fic: Do Not Read, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Incest, No beta reader, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 08:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElaenaOfGilead/pseuds/ElaenaOfGilead
Summary: Five years after her trial, Amma is set free. She wants to see her sister again.
Relationships: Amma Crellin/Camille Preaker
Kudos: 9





	Weaned On Poison

**Author's Note:**

> A quick fic to get this highly problematic ship out of my system. Enjoy!

“Hello big sister.”

It took Camille a second to recognize Amma and she didn’t quite know what to do once she did. She opened her mouth, as if her body reflexively knew she had to say something, but her brain could only muster up a shaky exhale.

“Did you miss me?” Amma’s hair was long again, golden and glowing even in the dim hallway outside her apartment. “I missed you.”

“You wouldn’t see me.” Camille blurted out, hating how defensive she sounded. Amma smiled, big doll-like eyes narrowing in amusement.

“I was a little mad at you. At everyone, really.”

She stepped closer and closer. The smell of laundry soap and cheap shampoo filled Camille’s nostrils and she felt Amma’s breath grazing her cheek.

“Then again, it didn’t take much for you to give up.”

Years of therapy and group meetings and endless talk with Curry. Years of mantras and meditation and self-help books, all undone with a single sentence. Camille’s heart sank and her skin burned, words lighting up across her body, like blinking billboard signs. _Wicked. Evil. Weak. Coward_.

“Are you going to let me in or not?” Amma said casually. “I’m tired.”

Camille said nothing and stepped aside. _Danger_ lit up on her calf as soon as Amma crossed the door.

She’d been making dinner when Amma knocked; spaghetti, which she always made too much of. It was only slightly overcooked by the time she got a hold of herself again. Amma complained about it and Camille was tempted to ask if prison food was better. She didn’t.

“I didn’t know you were getting released.” She said, not daring to look up from her plate.

“I know. I told them not to notify you.” Amma said thought a mouthful of spaghetti. Camille could only imagine what Adora would say at the sight. “I can choose that now, since I’m eighteen. They only notified my dad.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Fuck no.” Adora said with a laugh. There was something frightening about seeing Amma like this, after so many years apart. Seeing her laugh and curse and chew with her mouth open, like a normal teenager. “He let Adora kill our sister. He would have let her kill us too. I used to get letters from him, y’know, asking me to help Adora, to testify in her favor for this or that appeal. But he never once tried to appeal for me. I could have gotten out much sooner if he had.”

“You killed three girls, Amma.” Camille said, scoffing in disbelief.

“I know, Millie.” Amma said, shrugging slightly. “And I’m really sorry.”

Camille laughed, deeply, genuinely. Amma was sorry. She tortured those girls. She killed them and kept their teeth as trophies. But she was sorry.

“Are you feeling ok, Millie?” Amma asked. She tried to sound concerned, but Camille could see the glow in her eyes, the slight upturn to her lips.

“No, I’m not.” Camille sighed. “This is…a lot. I just wish I could have prepared.”

“Yeah, right.” Amma laughed. “You mean you wish you’d gotten a heads up so you could run away. You wish you were hiding in that old man’s house right now.”

Camille didn’t deny it.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Amma said, scooping up another mouthful of pasta. “I spent a long time thinking about what I’d do when I got out, making all these crazy plans. They all seem so silly now, but…”

She looked straight at Camille and licked her lips, pump and pink and as lovely as always.

“I really did miss you, Millie.”

-

They sat there for a while, sharing the silence. Eventually, Amma grew bored, drifting over to the living room while Camille scrubbed the dishes. Camille considered calling Frank but couldn’t get herself to the phone. She poured herself a drink instead. Cheap whisky over ice, from a bottle that had sat untouched on her pantry for a record time of three months. She downed the amber liquid in a single gulp and headed back to her sister.

Amma was splayed on her couch, watching a soap opera with unblinking focus. She was wearing jeans and a soft hoodie that was just a bit too big for her. The sleeves were dark from wear and the jeans were worn at the seams. Camille pictured her sister digging them out of some donation pile, some lost-and-found bin at the juvenile facility. So much for the Southern Belle life. She felt a tingle on the skin of her belly _. Sorrow_.

Camille sat down next to Amma, feeling the air grow thicker between them. Amma inhaled deeply, smelling the air like wolf.

“Get me a drink too.” She said, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“You’re underage.”

“Like that’s ever been a problem.” Amma giggled. She grabbed Camille’s wrist, her hands soft as silk, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Millie. I just got out of jail. Give me a break.”

Her thumb traced circles over Camille’s skin, stopping just as it reached the edge of a scar. _Pretty_. Camille fled to the kitchen, cradling her wrist like it’d been burned. She came back with the bottle.

They spent hours there, sitting together, taking turns sipping from the bottle. Amma switched through a dozen soap operas and sitcoms and teen dramas, all of which she seemed familiar with. She scrunched up her face whenever it was her turn to drink, unused to the burn after years of compulsory sobriety. She leaned her head on Camille’s shoulder, tucking her head just under her sister’s chin. By then Camille was drunk enough to allow it. By the time they finished the bottle, she was even drunk enough to request it.

“Hmmm, let’s go to sleep Millie.” Camille could feel the words vibrating against her neck.

“You’ll have to take the couch.”

“Why?”

A million reasons danced on Camille’s tongue, but none managed to make it past her lips.

“I only have one bed.”

Amma hummed against her neck, turning slightly until her lips were brushing against warm skin.

“So? We’ve shared a bed before, remember?” Camille could feel her smile.

“D’you remember?” Amma asked, a bit louder now, almost accusatory. “We were so happy, for a little bit.”

Camille stood up silently, knocking Amma back a bit with the motion. She walked to her bedroom, static flooding her ears, eyes fixed to the floor in front of her, well-aware that Amma was trailing right behind. Her bed was unmade but clean, and she wanted nothing more than to sink in it. Like Amma was some storybook monster that she could foil by hiding under the sheets.

She was wearing pajamas long before Amma showed up, a bad habit she picked up while living with the Currys. It was a time of jogger pants, nightgowns, and warm tea. Of being treated with a gentleness she thought was reserved for fine china. In retrospect, she couldn’t help but find it embarrassing, but it did save her life. As she slid into the sheets, her head spinning from the whiskey, she wondered what they would say if they knew what she was doing.

Amma was on her before she could muster the next thought. She slotted herself behind her sister, wrapping her arms around Camille’s torso, tangling her bare legs with Camille’s. She was still wearing the hoodie, the worn smell of it permeating the sheets. Camille couldn’t help but think back to that night, to them laying together, feverish and hungover. Amma felt small as a doll back then. She hadn’t grown too tall, but something about her seemed larger than life now. _Overpowering_ flared on Camille’s lower back, as if in response.

Camille spent hours frozen in place, feeling her sister’s breath against her nape. She thought of a million things she should do, a million things she should have done. She thought of Adora, just for a moment, like her therapist told her, and allowed herself to feel hate. She thought of Alan but couldn’t feel anything. To hate him would be to give him too much credit. Finally, she thought of Amma, of those three girls, those pearly teeth on the dollhouse floor.

Before she could dwell on how that made her feel, warm fingers were slipping under her pajama shirt. She tried to turn on her side, but Amma’s other limbs kept her in place. One finger pressed against the middle of her back, a short fingernail digging against the mess of scar tissue. It felt like being held at knifepoint.

“Did you do this?” Amma asked. Her voice was soft, but in the abject silence of the apartment it felt deafening.

“Yes.”

“When?” Amma hummed before continuing. “Why?”

“After we met, that last time.” Camille felt bile hit the back of her throat at the memory. “I was saving that spot for…a really bad day, I guess.”

The finger moved around the scar, feeling its thickness. Camille couldn’t help but shudder.

“Did it help?” Amma asked. “Did it make you feel better?”

“No.” Camille admitted, laughing to herself a bit. “It wasn’t enough. I tried to cut my face after, but the Currys didn’t let me.”

“Hmmm.” Amma moved away from the scar, dragging her hand up to Camille’s shoulder and kneading at the flesh. “Do you hate me?”

“No.” And Camille meant it. She didn’t. She couldn’t. “Do _you_ hate me?”

“Nope.” Amma said, pressing a kiss against Camille’s neck as if in assurance. “I never hated you. I think I even love you. Its hard to know, given our upbringing but…I’m almost positive.”

Camille laughed again because she understood.

“Why wouldn’t you see me?” She asked. “After that last meeting, they told me you didn’t want visitors anymore.”

“I was being stupid, I guess.” Amma pulled closer, both her hands now under Camille’s shirt, freely exploring the bumps on her skin. “I was mad that you wouldn’t get me out. So stupid, right? I was so childish back then. I really thought that it was one big time-out and I just needed an adult to say, _alright, she’s had enough, she can play again_. But I know better now.”

Amma’s hands stopped just under her breasts, feeling the soft flesh. Camille’s breath hitched, but she said nothing.

“I told myself, next time you showed up I would apologize.” Amma continued, moving her hands up just an inch, humming when Camille shuddered in response. “That was pretty stupid too. Telling someone you don’t want to see them and then getting mad when they give you what they want. I guess I wanted you to keep trying.”

“I’m sorry.” Camille knew she shouldn’t be, because she’d been told many times. Still, she was.

“No, no, Millie. Didn’t you hear me?” Amma was cupping her breasts now, and Camille felt her nipples harden under those silky palms. Amma’s face was close, speaking right into her ear. “I’m the one that has to apologize.”

Camille felt Amma’s lips latch on to her neck, like a velvet leech. She bit and licked and sucked until Camille whimpered, letting out a pleased grumble at her sister’s reaction.

“You just have to say you forgive me.”

A hand shot down from Camille’s breast to between her legs.

She should have stopped it right there, for her own sake if not for Amma’s. She didn’t. She just turned around and kissed and groped and let Amma do the same. In the darkness, they were just two people, bound by suffering, needing comfort.

Afterwards, Camille allowed herself to enjoy the stillness. She fell asleep sometime after, Amma’s hand still drawing circles on her back.

-

The next morning, Amma was gone.

Camille should have expected it. For better or worse, Amma wasn’t a kid anymore. As far as the state was concerned, she didn’t need to be minded and nothing she said last night implied she intended to stay. It was probably better this way. Amma was everything _but_ reformed and seemed remorseful only for herself.

Still, it stung.

She dropped an Alka-Seltzer into her coffee, gulping down the bitter liquid like it was a punishment. It had been a long time since she had a hangover this bad. It took the edge of her headache, but there wasn’t much it could do for the guilt.

Frank called her mid-morning and she let it go to voicemail. She would need at least a few days before she could face decent people again. She feared they could look at her face and see what she’d done. That they could smell the tar-black poison running through her veins, her tainted bloodline.

_Wicked. Evil. Weak. Coward_.

The words lit up, but her skin didn’t itch for the blade. Even it knew she didn’t deserve release after what she did.

She meandered around the apartment for a few hours, too restless to sit, too tired to do anything but pace. It wasn’t until she went in the bathroom, intent on scrubbing herself raw, that she saw it.

On her bathroom mirror was short note. It had been written with her expensive lipstick, now laying ruined on the edge of the bathroom sink. The handwriting was bubbly, child-like, yet still neat. Next to it was a kiss mark in the same deep, red tone.

_We’ll see each other later._

_-Love, AC._

She wanted to laugh at the flair of it all, to rage over her ruined lipstick, to fear her sister who seemed so much smarter now, but no less cruel.

In the end she just smiled. She traced her fingers over the initials, closed her eyes and let herself hope.

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, you saw the tags and still clicked :3


End file.
